tabaqui | Little Runaway2, part nine

Little Runaway2, part nine

Monday, January 31st, 2005 07:27 pm

As promised!

Now, this isn't a huge, long bit, but it DOES answer the burning question from the last part - 'in one week WHAT?'.
Hee.

And it nicely finishes off Part Two. There IS going to be a part Three, trust me!

I hope everyone enjoys, and thank you all for being so patient!

Previous parts are here

Enjoy!

Spike walked down the sidewalk, smoking - strutting. He felt good. Felt better than good - felt very much his old self. For the last week he'd fed - at will. No club, no...give. Just take. *Like it's supposed to be. Like it WAS. Vampire again.* He practically bounced as he walked, smirking to himself - reined himself back to a casual saunter as the neon and flashing lights of El Séptimo Sello came into view. Fancy met him at the door, looking odd in a pair of plain black slacks and a dark blue silk shirt. More clothes than he'd ever seen her in.

"Hallo, love," he said, tossing his cigarette away, and she smiled at him - quick, nervous grimace.

"Spike - hurry, please," she whispered, and Spike stepped inside.

"Oliverios is gone, yeah?" he asked, following her upstairs, and she nodded - nearly tripped on the seam of the elevator door. Nerves and fear around her like a cloud, rank and intoxicating.

"He's gone. D-dinner with the Mayor." Spike snorted, shaking his head. Oliverios liked to play up to the humans of the city - liked to pretend to be a fine and upstanding citizen. It was a game Spike had never had the patience or the desire to join.

"Well then, plenty of time. Everything's set and... You still want me to -?" Fancy looked at him - looked down at her wrists, her fingers plucking unconsciously at the bracelets around them.

"I do. I - still do," she said softly, and Spike nodded. The elevator stopped and they stepped out - went to the room that was oh, so familiar. Spike slung his duster off and handed it to Fancy and she hugged it to her.

"Ready?" she whispered, and Spike grinned.

"Love, I'm more than ready." Fancy nodded and opened the door, and Spike stalked in. The group of humans - nine of them - who had been lounging in various postures of boredom around the room slowly stood up. One man - the oldest man, a tall, silver-haired European - stepped to the fore.

"Spike! So pleased to see you. When Fancy told us you'd be here again, we were...very excited. But - you're not dressed properly." The man looked Spike up and down, taking in his worn black jeans, boots, tight t-shirt. No jewelry, no makeup. "You'll have to be punished for that," he said, his voice like silk and syrup. Spike grinned at him - took out a cigarette and lit it with a snap.

"You think so, Christian?" Fancy shut the door, near-silent snick of the lock and Spike changed - let the demon survey the prey that stood and stared at him so stupidly. "Let me tell you a story, Christian." He didn't come back out of the room for three hours. Fancy was waiting when he did.

Xander was waiting as well - at home, curled into a blanket on the couch, staring blindly at the TV and some Bollywood film. When Spike slipped inside, he started up and then sat there, staring - hands clenched into fists.

"You okay?" he asked softly, and Spike leaned back against the door, his head spinning just a little despite the long, meandering route that he'd taken to get home.

"Oh, pet. I'm - fine, I'm...so very fine..." Xander unwound himself from the blanket and came closer; cut off old jeans a worn t-shirt, his body palely golden in the dim, blue light of the television. He stopped a couple feet away, his eyes darting over Spike's body. Spike knew he couldn't really see anything - not with the duster, and the black clothes.

"Spike?" Xander came a little closer and reached out to him, and just as his fingers touched Spike's cheek, there was a pounding on the door. Xander jumped, giving a little yelp, and Spike growled. He knew exactly who was on the other side of that door.

"Don't say a word, love, all right?" he whispered, and Xander nodded, stepping back. Spike grinned then - turned and stared at the door, lifting his chin. Then he reached and opened it. Oliverios was there, glowering, as well as three other vamps - his personal guard.

"Spike, you bastard," he hissed, and took a step forward - hit the barrier with a look of fury.

"Place is in somebody else's name, Oliverios." He patted himself down for his cigarettes - made a show of slowly choosing and lighting while Oliverios stared coldly at him. "What is it you want exactly, mate?" he asked finally, and Oliverios snarled silently, the demon finally coming to the fore. *One for me, you bastard,* he thought. He could sense Xander behind him, still and silent. *It'll be all right, pet. He'll be gone soon.*

"You - used my club tonight to - to extract some sort of petty revenge -"

"You deliberately chose some of the sickest fucks in the city, Oliverios. And you told them things." Spike cocked his head a little, studying the older vampire. "You overstepped yourself and you know it. They - dishonored my line." That was a laugh - his 'line' consisted of a madwoman, himself, and Angel, and whatever get any of them had made that had managed to survive. Very, very few, if the truth be told. Aurelius was tight-knit, and those turned for convenience or pleasure rarely lasted more than a year. "I did what honor dictated I do," Spike added, almost choking on the laughter that wanted to bubble up. He shrugged - took a long draw on his smoke and watched Oliverios try to control his anger.

"You cost me nine of my wealthiest clients. You brought the sanctity and the integrity of El Séptimo into question with all my clients - with the entire demon community! The safety - the confidentiality of my club has been breached!"

"I made close to 12 million pesos for you, Oliverios. You're more than compensated. You're bloody lucky all I did was take nine humans apart in one of your special rooms! I'd thought to take out every body that'd ever seen me in there." And he had, too, but a blood-bath of that proportion would have made it impossible for Oliverios to back down, and Spike didn't feel like starting a war, just now. Not with Xander so easily in the cross-hairs. Spike smoked down another half-inch of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the chest of one of Oliverios' guards, making the guard jump back, swatting at his shirt-front. "Besides - I'm leaving. You can smooth your client list down and throw a party and everything will be back to normal by the end of the week. You know these little....dust-ups never last."

"Dust. Ups." Oliverios growled and Spike changed, as well - growled back, oblivious to the sharp intake of breath behind him from Xander.

*Not the time to draw attention, pet,* Spike thought, but then let it go in favor of staring Oliverios down. "You knew it was going to happen, Oliverios. You knew I wouldn't let them walk away. What is it you're really here for?" Spike knew this bluster about the clients - about Christian and his little covey of sycophants - was merely cover. They were humans, and in the grand scale of things - particularly to a vamp like Oliverios - weighed out to almost nothing. Oliverios glared at him, his eyes molten-gold in the dimness of the landing.

"You killed Fancy," he hissed, and Xander did make a noise this time - soft sound of dismay. Spike shrugged, took off his duster and tossed it down onto a nearby chair.

"I did. She asked me to. That was part of our deal. She got me the room - got me Christian. I got her free." Oliverios snarled and smashed one fist into the barrier - straightened away, suddenly, and smoothed his suit-coat. Shook the demon away, and reached into a breast pocket for a slim silver case. He pulled out a narrow, black cigar and lit it, slowly.

"You owe me, Spike." Spike shrugged again.

"Yeah, so - it was worth it. I'm leaving, Oliverios. Whatever I do for you fits my plans. We're quits, after this." Oliverios smoked slowly - nodded his head.

"Yes. We are. And you don't come back here, Spike. Ever."

*Oh - couldn't see THAT comin' a mile away.* "Sure, mate. Whatever you say. Send one of your boys over with the details. We're out of here end of the week, so don't take too long." Oliverios drew on his cigar again - examined it briefly.

"Tomorrow at sunset. And Spike - better get a collar and leash for your little cachorro, there. He might stray." Oliverios grinned and Spike shook his own demon away - raised two fingers in salute and shut the door between them.

Now that he'd taken the duster off, Spike knew Xander could see the state of his clothes, and he just stood for a long moment looking at the door - listening to Oliverios and his body-guards make their way downstairs - into a car that purred away into the twilight of the coming dawn. Spike looked down at himself, studying the blood that ringed each cuticle and was ground into the skin of his knuckles. *Take a long soak to get that out,* he thought, and then Xander's fingers were on his shoulder - a ghostly touch, there and gone.

"Spike? You're not - hurt, are you? You didn't -"

*Didn't let them touch me, pet. No worries there. Just one of me, nine of them...but humans are so fragile, and those chains - those straps - kept a vampire helpless.* "Didn't do anything but what I swore I would, pet. Took them out. Drank them down." It was more a relief than anything. It had felt good, doing it - felt good to see them writhe and scream and twist in helpless agony. Their blood had gone down like honey - like opium and applejack and he still felt drunk - felt clean, finally. Felt whole. *Washed in the blood.* But he was tired now, too. Just - tired. He turned finally, and looked at the boy - took in his wide, dark eyes and the tight set of his lips - the tension that made his whole body shiver. *Do you care, Xander? Or is this all for those humans that died? Are you on the edge of anger for them? Or tears? Or is it for me?*

"There's blood on your clothes," Xander said finally. Softly. Keeping his voice low, but Spike could hear the cracks in it.

Spike nodded, brushing one hand lightly down the stiff front of his t-shirt, where blood had dried in shiny, crackling patches. "Sorry, love. I'll burn these. They won't come clean." Xander nodded absently at that, the knowledge of blood and how tenacious it was in his eyes. *Child of Hell, this one - don't have to tell him things he already knows.*

"Why did you kill Fancy?" Xander asked, and Spike blinked in surprise at him.

"She asked me too, pet. She wanted free."

Xander tipped his head a little to one side, eyes going narrow. "Free of what? She wasn't a vampire."

"No, love, she wasn't. She was his - possession. She'd been there since she was a child. He snatched her up in the States, years ago. Brought her up to be his own little bed-warmer, didn't he? Since she was nine." Xander winced at that, but Spike wasn't going to make things pretty for him - he didn't need that sort of protection. Not anymore. "She was near thirty - getting old, for him. He was going to turn her. She didn't want that. That jewelry of hers - kept her from going." Magic - the unspoken word that Xander heard loud and clear. He nodded slowly, and finally - finally - one hand unlocked from its clench by his thighs and reached out. Touched his cheek, and his lip.

"I'm glad you're back," was all he said. Then he turned and went back to the couch and settled again, blanket over his naked legs, eyes blindly on the kaleidoscope of color and sound on the TV. Spike watched him for a moment and then he walked stiffly out of the room, feeling every one of his 150 years in his flesh and bones. He stripped and pushed the ruined clothing into the trash - went into the bathroom and got in the shower and stayed there, for as long as he could. Until the water was going cold, and his fingers were salt-white again. When he came out, finally, the sun was well above the horizon and the whole house was shuttered, gold-green or garnet haze in every room. He went slowly into his bedroom, exhaustion like lead in his marrow - like chains, weighing him down. And stopped, staring. There was long, low hump in his bed, and as he watched it moved - turned. Xander raised a bed-tousled head, looking blearily at him. Amber-rose light through the blinds, anise-sweet scent in the air. Sweet smile on Xander's face.

"Come to bed, Spike," Xander said softly, holding out his hand, and Spike did.

On Friday, they left Veracruz in the late morning, Xander carefully guiding the DeSoto through the crowded streets, Spike curled asleep in the back. Two bags in the trunk, a sheaf of cash in a lock-box under the front seat. Miles and roads ahead of them. Xander couldn't help but smile, as he steered them north. Leaving, and with Spike. Something - beginning. He knew it was going to be amazing.

ETA: Several years on...no, there isn't a third part. It's a pity, but there it is.

Tags:

runaway2,
spander

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